


The Hotbox

by cmdf



Series: the block party 'verse [4]
Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Alcohol, Blow Jobs, Karaoke, M/M, Public Blow Jobs, Recreational Drug Use
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-02-02
Updated: 2014-02-02
Packaged: 2018-01-10 20:58:40
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,532
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1164447
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cmdf/pseuds/cmdf
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“So,” Niall pulls the bag of Pirate’s Booty on his lap. “You know that Liam dude I been telling you about?”</p>
<p>“Liam?” Louis asks. He snags a hand full of Pirate’s Booty.</p>
<p>“The <i>only</i> dude who’s ever in his class,” Zayn sighs, head rolling onto his shoulder.</p>
<p>Niall’s talked about this Liam–a lot–always showing up at the crack of dawn with the biggest smile, sometimes with a cup of unsweetened green tea for Niall; how Liam immediately peels off his shirt (and must know he snaps some necks); <i>Liam’s really sexy,</i> Niall insists, <i>especially by the end of it, broad and built like a–</i></p>
<p>“I know that, genius,” Louis says, wiping a trail of white dust down his black sweater.</p>
<p>“Fuck off–” Niall starts up again, waving his hand above his head, “Anyway, Liam–he brought his Harry with him finally.”</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Hotbox

**Author's Note:**

> Finally! I'm so, so excited to share this with y'all. I took about a two week vacation away from this particular installment, mostly because I was lazy. But now it's all done and ready.
> 
> Special thanks to my betas and cheerleaders, Maika, Kati, and K8ie. A thank you to Bee, too.
> 
> While I was putting this together, I started up an inspiration blog. Please feel free to follow [Lik Fury](http://likfury.tumblr.com/) for some visual aids, playlists, and other exclusive content between installments.
> 
> For those not familiar with this 'verse, it's not essential to read the previous installments, but it might paint a better picture.
> 
> Thank you for reading.

Zayn’s already bundled up in three blankets on his ratty denim futon. The day has progressively become colder, wind knocking at the windows from all sides, seeping in through the cracks. A new gust whistles through the front door, knob rattling in its wake. He’s got his laptop resting on the top of his thighs, fan whirring and warm through his sweatpants, toes curling in his first layer of ski socks.

“Can we plug in the heater, man?” he shivers, pulling his blankets tighter around his chest. “I’m freezing.”

“You’re always freezing,” Niall says, letting out a low groan as he gets up from the rug to knee his way over to the heater.

“If we actually had some insulation in this place…” Zayn scratches at a fresh ink stain, silently scolding himself for falling asleep with a copic pen in his pocket three nights ago. He files the thought away, turning up the volume of his speakers.

Niall shakes his head, plucking his phone off of their makeshift coffee table: an oval piece of plywood propped up on two orange milk crates that Zayn likes to keep his vinyl lined up in.

“You going into work tonight?” Zayn asks, opening up a new tab on Hype Machine. He combs through the first couple pages, favoriting a few remixes to listen to later.

“I’m on call at the shop.”

“Ooh, but it’s _open mic night_.”

“Yeah,” Niall turns his phone over in his hand, “still waiting to hear back.”

“You mean you’re not going in anyway?” He can feel the heater now, warmth tingling back into his toes. 

Niall settles back on his elbows, sweatshirt inching up his stomach. “I’m not going into work if I’m not getting a nickel.”

“What about Leigh?”

A smile turns up on Niall’s face, “That’s already settled, man.” He’s picking off invisible pieces of lint from his sleeve, dropping them onto the tattered rug. 

There's a loud thud against the door that startles Niall onto his feet. Another thud slams against it while Zayn watches it rattle, waiting for the door to find its way open on its own.

"Hurry up and open the fucking door!" the voice on the other side yelps.  
"Gonna piss my pants. It's fucking cold out here!"

"Wouldn't be the first time!" Niall calls three steps from the door. He stops, leaning against the frame to laugh back at Zayn.

"You open it, you lazy shit!" Zayn yells.

"Fucking rotten, all of you!"

Niall flicks the bolt over, unlocking the door and twisting the knob open to a soggy haired Louis. He’s sneering, hunched over their "el ome" mat with two canvas bags hanging from his arms. 

“Yikes,” Zayn says, pulling the blankets tighter around his chest.

Louis doesn’t waste a moment to push past their doorstep, tracking mud in through their sorry kitchenette. His holey sneakers squish under each step until his hip checks the small bit of counter, slipping the canvas straps off his shoulder.

“Happy afternoon to you, too, sunshine.” He pulls out a bag of Pirate’s Booty to lob over onto the edge of the futon. 

Zayn catches it in his open hand, tearing the bag apart to dig out a handful to shovel into his mouth. “Thanks, man. What’s the occasion?” He shakes the bag with a raised brow.

“I worked a double shift, so I picked up snacks on the way home from Perrie’s.”

“Shit,” Niall sidles up to Louis’ side, slipping his arms around Louis’ waist to bring him into a hug. “You didn’t have to do that.”

“I didn’t do it for you,” Louis pats at Niall’s shoulder, rummaging through the drawer for the wine bottle opener.

“There’s no way you picked up ice cream,” Niall sticks his hand in the other bag to draw out a brick of cheddar, “and this all for yourself.”

“Jade’s coming over.”

Niall drops his arms to his sides and steps away, frown pressed into his face.

“Surprise,” Zayn says dryly, shrugging his shoulders and turning back to his laptop. 

"Shut up." Louis snaps. Zayn looks back over to watch him twist the last of the corkscrew, arm straining for a second before the cork gives to a soft pop. Niall slides over three mason jars in time for Louis to pour the neck over into the first.

Three new emails have popped up in Zayn's inbox. He grazes over the new comments on his latest blog post, rolling his eyes at the lengthy, snooze-inducing assessment of the irrelevancy of dancehall. People are entitled to their own opinions, but they should never brag about their stupidity.

"Is she really coming over?" Niall asks.

"No," Louis hands over two glasses to Niall.

"Did you really go to Perrie's?"

Zayn looks back up from the screen, accepting Niall's jar with a nod. He sets it on the back of the futon next to his hip before pecking out the last letters of his email. 

Louis abandons the third jar Niall plucked out for him, taking a grand swig of wine straight from the bottle and slamming it back down onto the counter with a deep sigh. He snatches the strap of his backpack off the kitchen floor, kicking his muddy shoes off on the way over. Zayn tries to hide his grimace at the smell of wet socks, ripe with a day at the Co-Op between his toes.

Louis quickly shreds open the zipper of his backpack and pulls out a gigantic ziplock of beautiful green buds, all neatly nestled under two more layers of bags. He gives it a quick shake to wave it in front of Niall's delightful, paralyzed gaze before prying it open.

“Jesus Christ,” Niall surges forward, nose tipping over the bag. “How strong is this shit?”

“Get away,” Louis swats at Niall’s hand, “make yourself useful and get us a piece.”

“How generous of you,” Zayn says, closing out a few tabs before closing up his laptop.

“I know, but it was my turn. Why not go all out?”

“That’s a lot of fucking weed, man.”

“We’re gonna smoke it all anyway–”

“With the amount you and Jade go through,” Zayn picks up his jar for a fresh swig of wine. It tastes more bitter than the last, can already feel his teeth shrinking under Louis’ acrid selection of pinot noir. He’s had twist cap bottles that taste better than this one. “I take it all back.”

“It was a sick deal. Perrie’s always good to us.” Louis sets the bag on the futon to rifle through the pack again. He pulls out another bag of goodies, this time making Zayn’s mouth water as he reaches for the brownies. “Fresh out of the oven when I got there.”

“Sweet,” Zayn smiles, pressing into the warm goods with his thumb before setting them in his lap. Perrie’s brownies are his favorite, getting him through some bouts of artist block and particularly stale nights at the pizzeria. “We’ll save these for later.”

Niall emerges from the bedroom door, bong at the ready in his hand. 

“Ice,” Louis commands, pulling a couple buds apart on the plywood. Zayn can hear Niall pull a tray from the freezer, cubes clinking at the bottom of the glass.

Zayn slinks off the couch and to his knees, moving his wine from his seat to the tabletop. Niall joins them on the floor, handing the bong over to Louis for prepping and packing the piece. Louis motions Zayn for his lighter to take the first rip.

Zayn's unashamed, loves to watch the violet flames spark and settle into a scarlet-green burn, the cloud of smoke billowing up thick and smooth, like velvet on his tongue and silk down and out through his lungs. Louis does the honors of passing the bong over to Zayn, falling back on his heels with an arm reaching out for his bottle of wine. Zayn shivers as he peels off his cocoon of blankets, fingers wrapped around the lip as he tilts it to his mouth.

The room settles into a mindless rhythm for a while, interrupted with the soft _chk_ ’s of the lighter and burbling rips, passing the bong around systematically between their assigned spots on the rug. Zayn smokes with them so often that he’s memorized the callouses on Louis’ hands to grab the bong from him and take a hit with his eyes closed.

“How’s everyone’s day then?” Louis asks, pouring back another swig of wine.

Zayn tips his head back too, eyes drifting back to the conversation on an exhale. “Chill.” He wants to curl back under his blankets.

“So,” Niall pulls the bag of Pirate’s Booty on his lap. “You know that Liam dude I been telling you about?”

“Liam?” Louis asks. He snags a hand full of Pirate’s Booty.

“The _only_ dude who’s ever in his class,” Zayn sighs, head rolling onto his shoulder. 

Niall’s talked about this Liam–a lot–always showing up at the crack of dawn with the biggest smile, sometimes with a cup of unsweetened green tea for Niall; how Liam immediately peels off his shirt (and must know he snaps some necks); _Liam’s really sexy,_ Niall insists, _especially by the end of it, broad and built like a–_

“I know that, genius,” Louis says, wiping a trail of white dust down his black sweater. 

“Fuck off–” Niall starts up again, waving his hand above his head, “Anyway, Liam–he brought his Harry with him finally.”

Niall’s also mentioned that a time or two: this Liam and his Harry. Of course, Niall never bothered to ask Liam much about Harry–or, Niall never bothered to tell him and Louis if there was anything interesting _to_ tell about this Harry.

“So he’s real?” Louis asks.

“Did I not just say that I met Harry today?”

“Question still stands–” Louis squints his eyes, voice small, lungs holding in a hit.

“He’s real,” Niall rips the bong out of Louis’ hands, breaking the cycle. 

Zayn frowns, shoulders falling back as he leans over to pick up his blankets again. He falls flat on his back, head too heavy and contained in its own space to pull himself back up again. He resorts to rolling into his blankets, a cozy burrito burrowed on the carpet.

“Would you get on your knees for Harry, too?” Zayn asks.

Louis snorts into the crook of his arm, eyes glazed over. 

Niall scowls. “Well, he’s definitely Liam’s boyfriend.”

“Yes!” Zayn darts up, shedding his blankets and nearly knocking over his empty jar. “Pay up, Tommo.”

“What?” Niall asks.

“Fuck,” Louis sighs into the palms of his hands, “I got you brownies?”

“A deal’s a fucking deal, man,” Zayn’s hand feels so heavy, he’s trying so hard not to let it sink into the floor. “What did Perrie give us? God, this is really good shit.”

“ _Why’s_ he owe you?” Niall asks again, voice trailing higher.

“Zayn made a bet that Liam’s gay–”

“I did _not_ explicitly call him gay! ”

“Fine,” Louis brushes his hair away from his rolling eyes, “what he actually said was Liam’s into dicks.”

Niall furrows his brow, lips twisting in thought. “Why would you think he was gay?”

“Into dicks, Niall,” he corrects, tongue beginning to feel dry, “Dicks. He relig–” maybe it’s bigger than his mouth, “he does _yoga_.”

“That doesn’t mean shit, man. I do yoga.”

“Yeah,” Louis gets up from the rug, “but you suck cock, too.”

“Touché,” Niall shakes his head as Zayn rips out a laugh, offering up a high five for Louis to take before he walks away.

“Anyone want some pizza rolls?” Louis’ rifling through the freezer. He’s cradling two bags of cheese pizza rolls in his hands before tossing them onto the counter.

“You don’t need to ask,” Zayn says.

“You really do,” Niall says, “or he’s going to eat them all himself.”

“I would never!” Louis shouts. He’s also lying. Last time Louis made pizza rolls, well, Zayn was offered a chance to smell them as they came out of the oven.

“Anyways,” Niall drains the last of his wine from the jar, “they’re meeting us at the Rock Box this weekend. You _both_ better show up.”

“I’m already there for half-price whiskey-gingers,” Zayn says. He turns his head to eye the bag of brownies so far out of his reach, mind already swirling over the gooey morsels and soft buzz skating under his skin.

“Wait, Liam is going to be there?” Louis turns around in the kitchen, hands waving in yellow quilted pot holders.

“You catch on quick,” Zayn mumbles. He really should check his phone, see if Daryn got back to him about that house party on 17th. 

God, he really hates house parties. But, a gig's a gig. And what time is it even?

“ _They_ , as in Liam _and_ Harry, will be.”

“What time?” Louis asks.

“I don’t know, the usual all-day bender.” Niall shrugs.

"That helps,” he kicks the oven door closed. “Okay, definitely making sure I’m not working."

Zayn checks out of the conversation, finally catching sight of his phone screen glowing under the futon. He falls back into his pile of blankets to roll over to it. He's got a little over two hours until he has to be folding dough. His thumb slides it unlocked. 

Daryn's text him back: the party's moved from 17th and Spring to 18th and Fir, edging over from First Hill and into the Central District, skating over the fine line of Not Being Worth It. And he's really fucking high right now.

"Get some music on," Louis pokes at Zayn's hip. "It's too quiet in here."

"Leave me alone," Zayn rolls away from Louis, pecking out the last of his text.

"Come on, DJ Malik. Give me a beat."

“Incessant,” Zayn mumbles, crawling back over to his laptop. He cracks it open and plugs in the jack to the speakers next to the futon. “Some Dylan to set the mood, yeah?”

 

+

 

Zayn’s on his third, watered down whiskey-ginger of the afternoon, having already heard four people go up to the stage to perform half-assed, giggly renditions of _Don’t Stop Believin’_. It’s not even five o’ clock yet.

He needs to get drinking faster.

“Are we getting a room yet?” Zayn asks. He elbows Niall in the rib, nearly pushing him off his stool.

“Not ‘till they get here,” Niall says.

“What if they don’t even show up?”

“They’ll be here,” Niall scowls, picking up his can of PBR.

“Can you text him or something?” 

Someone is singing _Imagine_ out of key. Zayn’s considering a fresh double on his tab.

“Yeah, _Neil_ ,” Louis pipes up, “I took an early morning shift for this.”

“You would have taken the early morning shift anyway,” Zayn says, swirling the melted ice around his glass. "You're always here on Sunday. With or without us."

Louis shakes his head, sneering over the lip of Niall’s can.

“Get your own fucking drink, you mooch!” Niall snatches it out of his hand.

“Can you go get me one then?”

“Are your legs broken?”

“Funny you should say that,” Louis props his chin on his hands, blinking his eyes. Niall lays his hand flat and palm up on the tabletop, head cocked to the side. Louis lets out a sigh, reaching an arm around to pull out his wallet and toss a bill in his direction. “Put it towards your tab, darling.”

Niall heads over to the bar as soon as the final screeching notes of _Imagine_ come to an end. The bar suddenly sounds louder with the music stopped, voices crowding in the dimly lit space. 

Louis moves over into Niall’s chair, bumping his shoulder into Zayn’s. “You going up soon?”

“Nah,” Zayn drains what’s left in his glass, ice sliding across his tongue. “Don’t think they’re ready for _Confessions Part II_.”

“You seriously going to bore us with that?”

“Have you even listened to that song?”

Before Louis can give an honest answer, another inebriated soul cues the opening lines to _Take On Me_.

“Love this song,” Louis says, finger pointing over his shoulder.

“Where the _fuck_ is Niall?” Zayn blurts out.

The voice coming through the speakers isn’t nailing the falsetto. Even Louis wrinkles up his face like he’s smashed up against a windshield. “Oh, quit being a fucking spoil sport, Malik.” 

“It’s too early for this. I could be mixing over at Danny’s right now.”

“We’re at a karaoke bar, not Benaroya Hall. Stay with me, pal.” He rubs at the back of Zayn’s neck and gives him a quick pat on his shoulder. “You just need another drink in you and everyone will start to sound good.”

Zayn shrugs it off, shifting in his seat and slumping over his barren glass. Louis’ right; he _desperately_ needs another drink or three if they’re not getting a private room tonight. 

He turns in his stool to head to the bar and spots Niall heading back over cradling two cans of beer and another drink in his hands.

“Shit,” Louis leans over to Zayn’s ear, “they’re real.”

“Who’s real?”

And then he sees _them_ , Liam and _his Harry_ , flanked on each side of Niall, decked in plaid and dark wash jeans. They’re like two pillars, almost a head above Niall, laughing over something the one with a neon orange beanie just said–and that, Zayn can only assume, is Harry. 

Harry’s a product of Capitol Hill: right down to the elegantly ripped knees in his Dr. Denims and gently worn Pendleton he probably snatched up at Crossroads. He’s edging over not looking like he’s trying too hard to blend in, which is a great pre-first impression for Zayn, considering he has no choice but to meet him now. Harry’s why he’s here.

Oh, and Liam, too: fresh off a roll of Brawny. He has the sleeves of his black and red buffalo plaid rolled up his arms. His hand dwarfs the glass of whatever he’s drinking, definitely the size of a dinner plate if he can handle the tray of shot glasses in his other so easily. His shoulders fill out his shirt nicely, hair combed back with an obvious sense of care. He’s a pretty boy– no, more _handsomely rugged_ , as Niall described him once or something. Zayn gets it now. Liam’s definitely head-to-toe straight out of an LL Bean catalogue.

Niall sets down the drinks and slides a can of PBR onto the table in front of Louis. He pushes a new whiskey-ginger over to Zayn.

“Thank you, baby,” Louis snatches up the can and makes a kissy noise. Zayn stirs his drink twice with the little black straw.

“Yeah, yeah,” Niall squeezes his way between Zayn and Louis, “this is Harry,” pointing to the one with the knot of necklaces trailing down his chest, just as Zayn suspected. Harry offers out a hand to Louis first, then to Zayn. It’s a firm shake, as enthusiastic as the neon orange beanie on his head. “And this here is Liam.”

Liam smiles over the rim of his glass, swallowing down his drink. “Hi.”

Zayn nods, watching Liam walk around to the other side of the table. 

“Need a hand with that?” Louis offers, gesturing to the tray of shot glasses on Liam’s arm.

“I’m good, thanks,” he puts down his glass and slides the tray of shot glasses carefully onto the table before taking a seat.

“Figured we could start off with some shots,” Harry says, “that’s how friends are made.”

“If you can remember them the next day,” Louis laughs. “It’s a perfect idea. Thanks, yeah.”

“Was Liam’s,” Harry pats at Liam’s back. Liam ducks over the table to reach toward the tray.

“I like the way you think,” Louis winks, leaning forward to pick up a shot glass.

Liam deals out the rest of the shots, careful to keep them from sloshing over his hand.

“He’s got us whiskey, boys,” Niall says, raising his shot. “To new friends!”

“New friends,” Harry clinks his glass with Niall and Louis. He twists to bump his glass with Liam. Zayn hesitates for a second, watching the four of them down their shots. Liam wipes his mouth with the back of his hand, like the world's warped down to slow motion as Zayn watches it pass by.

“Go on, you pussy,” Louis elbows Zayn, “take the fucking shot.”

He can feel Liam's eyes on him as he stares down at the shot before throwing it back. He winces as it burns, chasing it with his double whiskey-ginger, not that it helps much. It warms his blood, cold flush stinging out the tips of his hair.

“Been hearing so much about you from Niall,” Louis says, “was starting to think you weren’t real.”

“I know. I really am too good to be true,” Harry jokes, throwing an arm around Liam.

Zayn musters up a smile and side glances over to the laughter coming from Niall. He averts his eyes back over to Liam, sees him smiling into his drink again. Liam leans into Harry’s side, shaking his head. He looks back over to Zayn, biting his lip.

“What do you do?” Liam asks.

"I'm a DJ." Zayn replies. They stare at each other for a bit again, and Zayn can see the blush rising in Liam's cheeks. It's like Liam's waiting for a further explanation from Zayn before he surrenders and nods.

"Oh, he's fucking sick, man," Louis leans into the table, "the best."

"He's insane," Niall jumps in. "Was billed at Decibel this year."

"No shit!” Harry says. “I went to, like, almost all of the shows. I probably saw you.”

Zayn shrugs, stirring at his drink again.

“He’s doing a party next weekend,” Niall says, “where’s it at? 17th and Fir?”

“Nah, it got moved to Greg’s,” Louis corrects him.

“I fucking _hate_ going to Greg’s.”

“Greg’s?” Harry asks.

Zayn’s tracing the lip of his glass, flitting his eyes between how much Niall hates how far Greg’s house is to walk when he’s off his ass, how he shouldn’t have to pass by that many grocery stores. Louis points out Niall’s just lazy. Harry says something about how he’d actually been to Greg’s once upon a time. Small talk, and that sort of introductory business.

It doesn't take long, but it's settled: Harry's going to Greg's next weekend.

Liam's just sitting there, elbows on the table and a hand propped under his chin. His other hand is flicking his wrist, swirling the cubes around in his drink. Zayn notices his forearm catch under the bar’s dim lighting where he can see an elegant feather inked down the length of it.

"That's nice," Zayn points, nearly poking at Liam's skin for his attention.

Liam sits up and lays his arm out on the table, angling the feather better in the light. "Thanks." He's running a finger across it, so carefully as if to preserve its shape.

“Who did it?”

“Some guy in Duluth.”

Zayn nods. “Don’t think I’m going there anytime soon.”

“Have any of you gone up to sing yet?” Harry asks, eyes surveying the table.

“Nah,” Louis shrugs, “it’s just been one shit rendition of a Journey song after another for three solid hours.”

“Sounds like my kind of place,” Harry says. “You all want me to sign us up for a room for a couple hours?”

“That’d be great, thanks.” Niall nods as Harry gets up from Liam’s side to get them a room.

The host leads them to a room fit for five in under ten minutes, surprisingly fast for Sunday Happy Hour. There’ve been weekends where Zayn’s had to wait a few hours for a room. They weave through the dark corridors to their room.

Zayn follows Louis in, plopping himself down on the black leather couch.

“Who wants to go first?” Niall asks.

“I will,” Liam takes the tablet from Niall and hands it to Harry. He and Harry exchange some sort of telepathic correspondence as Liam leans down to pick up the mic next to Zayn’s leg. He gives Zayn a quick wink, flicking the mic on with his thumb.

“They’ve got it,” Harry says, finger tapping on the tablet.

The music starts and Zayn darts his eyes to the screen as the first line scrolls up.

“Aah…whatcha doin’,” Liam starts.

Harry lets out a _whoop_ as Liam carries out the intro. Zayn shakes his head, not actually believing this is happening. _Usher_ is happening.

Liam shakes his arm and takes a sharp look at the clunky, watch on his wrist, licking his lips before singing, “It’s seven o’clock on the dot, I’m in my drop top cruisin’ the streets… _ooh, yeah._ ”

Zayn lets out a long breath he has no idea he was building up. Liam’s _incredible_ , this straight-laced looking dude taking everyone, with the exception of Harry, of course, by surprise. Niall leans over Louis to wiggle his brow, pointing up at Liam trying to push a hip-checking Harry away. Zayn needs to finish up his drink. Maybe even make for Louis’ PBR for good measure. He can buy Louis a new drink when it’s over.

Liam keeps singing, voice never wavering while batting at Harry as he quite literally dances circles around Liam. “Let me take you to a place nice and quiet, there ain’t no one there to interrupt.”

Louis jabs his elbow into Zayn’s rib, nearly spilling the second half of his drink all over his lap. “Ah, _Louis_.”

Louis squints his eyes into a laugh. “Just making sure you’re still here with us.”

Zayn scowls, flipping him off and wiping his hand on Louis’ jeans. He downs the rest of his whiskey ginger, sliding the glass on the table and trying to not let his eyes get any more distracted by the way Liam’s putting his whole body into this, in a low ceiling, club-lit, four-person performance space with a shoddy, blown out soundsystem.

Niall pokes at Zayn’s leg, slapping Louis’ face away, “You see what I been tellin’ you about?”

“Telling us _what_ , Niall?” Louis asks.

“That he’s amazing.”

The song ends, and Liam gives a bashful smile as Niall starts to clap. Louis joins in, and Zayn shrugs before giving in to the applause himself.

“Thank you, thank you,” Harry bows.

Liam hands over the mic to Harry and walks over to sit on the couch. Zayn gets up from his seat next to Louis to move closer to Liam.

Liam’s watching Niall and Louis scroll through the catalogue, smiling as they settle on _All the Small Things_ and _Baby Got Back_ for the queue.

“Hey.” Zayn says.

Liam licks his lips as they curve into a smile. He scoots closer to Zayn before turning to face him. “Hi.”

“That was–you were great.”

“Thanks.” Liam looks down at his lap. “Your drink looks a little dry.”

Zayn looks over to his empty glass on the table. “Yeah.”

He feels Liam’s knee brush against his as Liam gets up to walk to the door without another word. The music starts up, Louis taking charge of the mic as Harry corners Niall on the other side of the couch. Half-way through Louis’ debut, Liam comes back through the door with two drinks in his hands.

Liam sits next to Zayn, thigh lined up next to Zayn’s side completely. Zayn takes the whiskey-ginger from Liam’s hand. “Thanks, dude.”

Liam taps the lip of his glass against Zayn’s, spilling a few drops onto the top of his hand. He takes a drink anyway, his attention clearly still focused on Zayn. He has to stop looking directly at Liam. Zayn can’t stop fucking smiling, and it’s annoying the _shit_ out of him.

Liam clears his throat. “So.”

Zayn swallows down his drink as Louis cracks over a note. “So what?”

“What’s your song?”

“I don’t have one.”

Liam looks away and smiles, downing another gulp of his drink. “Bullshit.”

Zayn thinks about _Confessions Part II_. “I really don’t have a song.”

“Niall told me you’re here every Sunday. I’m not buying that.”

“That’s fine with me ‘cause you’re buying me drinks.”

Liam sucks in a breath, “Not if I’m not going to get some entertainment out of you.”

“Are you flirting with me, Liam?”

“Maybe. You like it?”

Zayn leans back into the couch, surveying Liam up and down over his glass. “I do. I like you.”  
He watches Liam’s face heat up under his words. “So you and Harry aren’t, like, a Thing?”

“Lucky for me, we aren’t.”

“Why so lucky?”

Liam leans in closer, slowly bringing his arm up around Zayn to pull Zayn into his side. “‘Cause old Harry is putting up all fancy moves for Niall this evening.”

“And you’re doing the same for me?”

Liam does that thing where he draws out the moment by licking his lips before looking back over to Zayn, all the while driving Zayn nuts before he even gets a word out. He pulls Zayn in tighter, lips impossibly close to his ear. “I’ve only just met you,” he whispers.

Zayn can feel the hairs on the back of his neck raise. He’s completely forgotten about the space they’ve been dropped into, head spinning back straight when he sees the neon letters to _More Than A Feeling_ blaze across the screen. 

Louis’ nowhere in sight, probably snuck out of the room to track down their hostess for another can of PBR. The room’s gone muggy, cotton tee sticking to Zayn’s back. He looks up from his drink to see Harry has an arm around Niall, practically screaming into the mic as Niall sings along just as loud.

“You know,” Zayn starts up, “Niall’s been seeing this girl lately.”

“Yikes–so I should probably tell Harry he’s wasting his time.”

“Nah,” Zayn laughs, remembering all the times Niall went on about Liam. “I don’t think it’s anything official between the two of them anyways. And Niall’s said some things about you that I’ve sworn I can’t repeat.”

“Is that so?”

“Yes… so I can confirm Niall’d definitely be up for giving Harry a chance.”

“It’s more than a feeelaaang!” Niall sings.

“More than a feeeelaaaaang!” Harry echoes, pressing his back to Niall’s to begin strumming his air guitar. He looks completely ridiculous, beanie slipping off to the side of his head as he and Niall headbang through a guitar interlude.

The door to their room opens up again, Louis pushing through with a can of beer and a martini glass with Jade trailing in behind him. Niall jumps away from Harry to greet her with a big hug as the song fades out.

“Jade’s here!” Niall announces, pulling her from Louis’ side and over to Harry.

Louis scoots past the introductions, setting their drinks on the table then plopping down on the couch next to Zayn.

“Where’s my drink then?” Zayn pokes Louis’ rib.

“Get your own, you bastard.”

Liam gets up to dust the front of his shirt, “Another whiskey-ginger?”

“No, no,” Zayn refuses, trying to hide his blush of embarrassment. “Really, I’m good. I’m just fuckin’ with Tommo.”

“You sure?”

“Yeah, Zayn,” Louis leans over, wide eyed. “You sure you don’t want Liam here to kindly buy you _another_ drink? That’s a bit rude.”

“I’m not even half through the first one you got me,” Zayn swirls the cubes around in his glass. “Wouldn’t mind a water, though.”

Liam nods, taking off through the door. Louis slouches down into his seat, foot coming up to tap the side of Jade’s knee. She turns away from Niall to give him a quick scowl. Louis quickly brings his knee up to his chest and curls into Zayn’s side.

“You’re in trouble,” Zayn laughs. 

“I’m always in trouble.” Louis mumbles.

“Hi, Jade.”

“Hey, Zayn,” she smiles, hot pink gloss catching under the lights. Niall pulls her back over the tablet, probably talking her into singing her usual selection of Shania.

“What do you think of Liam?” Zayn asks, resting his head on Louis’ shoulder. Zayn glances at the door. He feels tired, no, maybe it’s calm, head swirling under the opening notes of _Regulate_. 

“Can’t think much of him, really.” Louis says. Zayn feels Louis’ shoulder shrug under his ear. “He’s been latched onto you the whole fucking night.”

“We haven’t really talked much, though.”

“Sometimes it doesn’t take much for people to do silly things.” Louis shoves Zayn off his shoulder, heel of his hand digging into Zayn’s temple. 

Zayn swings his leg over Louis’ lap, throwing his arm across Louis’ chest to slap at Louis’ arm. “You complete shithead,” Zayn steadies himself onto his other hand.

“Get off of me,” Louis pokes at Zayn’s side.

The song comes to an end with Niall and Jade taking a bow, leaving Harry alone at the mic to sing _Like A Virgin_. Liam comes back with a new tray in his hand, two double Greyhounds and a pint of ice water to hand over to Zayn. 

Louis nods to Liam and turns away from Zayn, wrapping an arm around Jade’s waist. Zayn has no idea what Louis’ saying now, his words only directed into her ear. She’s smiling and nodding now, face as sweet as the sugar-rimmed cocktail resting between her hands. They make it look so easy.

Liam takes a seat between Zayn and Niall, his leg practically resting on top of Zayn’s. Zayn takes another gulp down of his ice water.

“Like a viiirgin–touched for the very fiiirst tiiiiime,” Harry gets up on the table to slide a hand down his side as he wiggles his hips. Niall’s laughing so hard, he’s practically tearing up.

“Jesus Christ,” Niall shouts over the music.

Harry jumps from the table and drops to his knees in front of Liam. Liam laughs along with Niall and puts his palm to Harry’s forehead to keep him from scooting any closer. Harry just leans back and makes his way over to Niall, hand trailing up the side of his leg on the couch.

“You’re so fine–and you’re mine!” Harry gets up to draw his hand up Niall’s chest. Niall buries his face into his hands, turning into Liam’s shoulder. “Make me strong, yeah you make me _bold_.”

All of them are tumbling into a fit of laughter, especially Harry as he tries to keep it together through the rest of the song.

Zayn watches Liam drain the last of his drink and Harry hand over the mic to Louis and Jade. Niall starts up _Don’t You Want Me_ for them.

“Having fun?” Zayn asks, watching Liam out of the corner of his eye.

“Yeah.” Liam darts his tongue out slowly, licking at the seam of his lips. He feels the tips of Liam’s calloused fingers brush up the back of his hand, blunt nails raking against the hairs of his forearm. 

“You’re really cool, yeah,” Zayn says. “Can I call you sometime?”

Liam squeezes at his wrist and pulls out his phone, “I’d like that.”

Liam unlocks his phone and lets Zayn put in his number. Zayn shoots off a text to himself, handing Liam’s phone back over as they quietly watch Louis serenade Jade with _Can You Feel the Love Tonight_ Liam tips his head onto Zayn’s shoulder, finger drawing circles around the frayed denim just above Zayn’s knee.

“When are you going to sing for us?” Liam asks.

“I dunno. Not really up for it.”

Liam sits back up, shoulders square and “How about for me?”

“I hate to burst your bubble, but I don’t really ever sing for anyone.”

Zayn tries to laugh it off as he watches a flicker in Liam’s eyes.

“I guess I’ll just have to sing for you.”

Liam pats his hand on Zayn’s knee before standing up. He gets the mic from Louis then starts tapping away at the tablet in Jade’s lap.

“Dear god,” Harry says, hand coming up to cover his mouth.

“Love is like a bomb, baby, come on get it on,” Liam starts to sing. He has his back to the screen, hand slapping the side of his leg in time with the drum. 

Harry and Niall join in on the clapping, giggling into each other’s faces on their corner of the couch.

Zayn turns to see Louis pumping his fist in the air while Jade is stunned into propping her head up on her elbow. Zayn’s frozen in his own seat, afraid to look at what exactly Liam is doing. 

“Pooour some sugar on maaaay!”

Zayn is completely, utterly toasted, not so much his head is spinning, but enough for him to cup his hands around his mouth and let out a whistle as Liam thrusts his hips forward. Liam slides a hand down his chest, palm smoothing over plain of his torso. 

“Sweet dream, saccharine,” Liam’s thumb catches under the button at the bottom of his shirt, “loosen up, loosen up.” He’s the least subtle tease, lifting up the hem of the flannel to show off his abs. Zayn wants to stick his entire fist in his mouth because the definition of Liam’s muscles could divert rivers.

Zayn wipes the back of his hand across his forehead, brushing away the hair falling into his eyes. 

Liam’s let go of his shirt to bring his hand down to his belt, pressing his palm over his dick: “You gotta squeeze a little, tease a little, please a little more.”

Zayn feels like he's having an out of body experience, watching Liam hook a thumb into the waist of his denim, tugging ever so lightly to show off a strip of his black briefs. Liam keeps distracting Zayn from looking up at his face with his hips. Liam stops to take a step forward, crowding into Zayn’s space on the center of the couch.

Zayn can feel all the eyes in the room on him, the weight of the ceiling falling down on him as Liam hovers over Zayn, fingers lifting Zayn’s chin to meet his dark eyes. Zayn swallows down with what little willpower he’s left, heart racing at a million miles per second.

“You’ve got the peaches,” Zayn feels Liam’s thumb catch across his bottom lip, “I’ve got the cream.”

“Yaaaow!” Harry yells into his ear. He can hear Niall howling with laughter over Harry’s shoulder, leaning to slap at Zayn’s back.

Liam sways backwards, finishing up the song with everyone singing along with the final chorus. The music starts to fade out under the applause from Harry, Niall, and Louis. Zayn takes a big gulp from his somewhat forgotten glass of water.

“That was really hot,” Jade says.

“Jesus Christ,” Louis punches Zayn’s shoulder. “Your man’s an animal.”

Zayn can’t help but blush, watching Liam take a few beats to catch his breath.

Liam gives the mic back over to Harry, quickly replacing his empty hand with his Greyhound. Harry checks his hip into Niall, laughing as Niall stumbles back onto Liam’s arm. The drink in Liam’s hand sloshes onto his wrist.

“Sorry, dude,” Niall says over his shoulder, disregarding the fact that half of Liam’s drink is now dripping off his forearm.

“Oh, damn.” Liam leans over to put his drink on the table as Harry keeps chasing after Niall. “What a mess.” 

He shakes a few drops of grapefruit and vodka onto the floor, then brings his fore and middle fingers to his face. He licks off the rest, tongue flat against his knuckles. Zayn watches as he reaches the tips of his fingers and swallows them back down, lips stretching as his cheeks hollow around them. Liam pulls them out painfully slow, fingers pulling on his plump bottom lip, and Zayn darts back up to Liam’s hooded gaze.

“Would you mind showing me where the restroom is?” Liam asks, eyes never leaving Zayn for a second. He’s got his lips between his teeth again and Zayn can smell the sour grapefruit edging from his mouth.

“It’s just down the hall–”

“I said _show_ me,” Liam’s voice drops. Zayn quickly finishes his water. Liam pries the glass from him and takes Zayn’s hand. “Please. Can you take me there?” Liam strokes the top of Zayn’s hand with the pad of his thumb. 

“Sure,” Zayn squeezes back and lets Liam pull him up from the couch. 

Niall starts up _No Scrubs_ as soon as Liam latches onto the door handle. Harry gives him a quick wink and a casual salute over Liam’s shoulder as Liam practically pushes Zayn out the door.

Zayn walks down the blacklight-lit corridors, winding past Britney’s and Whitney’s, a Def Leppard, and a Tom Jones. Liam’s hot on his heels, reaching out for Zayn’s hand again to follow his lead. 

They push through the door, and he’s buzzing through his skin, not sure if it’s from the whiskey gingers or the heat against his back. The bathroom is as dark as the private rooms, indigo lights to set the mood, even lining the wall of urinals.

It's empty at the moment, all of three of the stall doors open. Zayn stops next to the hand dryer, foot just missing the puddle of water beneath it.

"So," Zayn gulps down a breath. He catches Liam staring back at him in the mirror above the sinks, watches Liam's arms slink around his waist from behind. Zayn can't help cock an eyebrow, shifting the weight on his feet to lean back into his chest. He's so broad, solid, and warm. Definitely warm. Though that may be the shots and–

Liam drops his chin onto Zayn's shoulder and noses behind his ear. Zayn shivers, pulling away from Liam.

"Sorry," Liam whispers.

"'S fine," Zayn smiles, staring back at Liam in the mirror, "just tickles."

Liam hugs him tighter and nods. "Can I kiss you?"

"How polite."

"Just starting off nice and _slow_."

"Starting off?"

Liam doesn’t miss a beat, pressing his lips to the corner of Zayn’s mouth. Zayn turns more toward Liam, turning in his arms to kiss him fully on the mouth. God, his lips are fucking amazing. Zayn wishes he hadn't had so many whiskey gingers so he could taste them properly– tart and shocking, he supposes. 

Liam parts his lips, leaving his bottom one ripe for the taking, and Zayn’s helpless, can’t stop himself from taking a quick bite so soon into this, reveling in the stunted grunt Liam makes when he pulls away. Liam pushes at his waist, and Zayn obliges, taking a step back into the sink while tripping over a lace on his boot.

“Shit,” he pushes a hand onto Liam’s shoulder.

Liam steadies him with those dinner plate hands of his. "You're good," he says, almost breathless, eyes dark and voice dropping. "Good." He leans in slowly to kiss Zayn again.

Zayn grips his hands on the edge of the sink behind him, knees parting to make room for Liam to step in closer. Liam towers over him, curls a hand behind Zayn's neck, pulling them together, chest to chest.

Zayn's loving this, hasn't enjoyed the thrill of making out with someone in a bar bathroom with unintentional mood lighting in ages. Loves the way it makes his skin blush to think about someone walking in. It reminds him of the days before he was 21, when being in college and living on loan disbursements gave the illusion of not being flat broke, and definitely making use of his fake around the hill to go to the 21+ shows by himself. If the music wasn't good, (and especially the sound system at Chop Suey) he'd usually end up in the bathroom, much like tonight, with his hands around another neck and a few regrets in the morning.

Liam sweeps his thumb up the side of Zayn's neck in careful little circles, working his way back up to behind Zayn's ear.

"Hey!" Zayn brings a hand to Liam's chest.

"Is for horses," Liam says, and it really shouldn't be so charming when he ducks back in to suck at the side of Zayn's neck.

"Was that a joke?"

"Apparently not a very good one if you had to ask." Liam gets back to kissing his way over Zayn's shoulder, stretching out the neck of his tee.

"Was a surprise, that's all."

"You're really hot, Zayn," Liam drags his lip over the shell of his ear, hands slipping up the hem of his tee to trace his fingers up Zayn's spine.

"Thanks," Zayn says, maybe blushing at that just the tiniest bit. His heart's racing a mile a minute, just listening to Liam pant against his ear.

Liam swallows, wet lips pressing a sweet kiss to Zayn's earlobe, and he whispers, "So let me suck your dick, please."

Zayn closes his eyes for a moment, taking in the offer, turning it over in his brain a few times in his head to make sure it really happened. “Your place, or mine?”

Liam laughs, nose brushing against the side of his head. “I was thinking more like third stall on the right.” He leans back to look Zayn in the eyes again, sporting a devilish smirk before darting back in for a kiss. Liam’s softer with it now, sweet pecks curved into his smile. Zayn feels a palm cover the fly of his jeans, the heel of Liam’s hand pressing in just _right_ for a split second, knocking the air from his lungs. “Come on, then,” Liam whispers, tugging Zayn away from the sink and over to the toilet stalls.

His legs are moving faster than his brain, and from one blink to the next, Zayn’s cornered into a cramped stall with Liam locking it behind them. Liam moves back in on Zayn, plump bottom lip dragging against the side of his neck. He sucks against the soft juncture between Zayn’s neck and shoulder, stubble rough against the skin, and brings his palm against the zip of Zayn’s jeans. Zayn has to bite down a gasp as Liam squeezes at his half-hard cock.

“Shit,” Zayn says, pulling down the sleeve of Liam’s shirt. Liam moves his hand away from Zayn’s cock to bring it back up to the side of Zayn’s face, sliding to the back of Zayn’s neck and up through his hair. Usually Zayn minds when anyone else touches his hair, but he can’t really say no when Liam is pushing all the right buttons.

Liam continues to kiss over to Zayn’s throat, nose bumping against his chin as he comes back up to kiss Zayn on the mouth. Zayn parts his lips for him, cherishing the sound Liam makes when he opens his mouth against Zayn’s and moans. Zayn takes Liam’s face in his hands to kiss him deeper, hands slipping up into Liam’s hair to tilt his way into the kiss. Liam starts to pull away, and Zayn rests his forehead against Liam’s temple, loving the low _hiss_ Liam makes when Zayn nips at his bottom lip.

“This okay?” Liam asks, leaning back to look at Zayn. His lips are bitten, cheeks flushed with a line of sweat starting at his hairline. It really shouldn’t be _okay_ ; they’re in a fucking bathroom stall with Zayn's legs almost straddling over a toilet, but Zayn’s interested, in more ways than one, to see what happens.

“Yeah,” he nods darting in for another quick kiss, “yeah, sure.”

Liam pops the button of Zayn’s fly over his thumb, hands mindful and quick with the zipper. It’s a relief for his dick that was starting to strain against the denim. Zayn helps shimmy them down his thighs as Liam settles on his knees. Thankfully the floor looks clean. It’s dry and there’s nothing noticeably questionable scattered around them. 

He feels Liam pull down at the elastic band of his brief at his hips and silently fistbumps himself for wearing one of his newer pairs tonight. His cock bounces against his hip, the elastic taut around his thighs, and Liam wastes no time before putting his thumb and forefinger around the base. His eyes flicker up at Zayn, mouth opening with a flattened tongue to lick up the underside of his cock.

“Wow, you’ve got a pretty dick, you know?” Liam flutters his eyes closed and presses a sweet kiss to the head. Zayn really doesn’t know how to respond, and he doesn’t really have to when Liam continues to kiss his way down and back up Zayn’s cock, licking and nosing at it with the dopiest smile, like it’s Christmas morning.

“You really do like to take it slow,” Zayn sighs when Liam’s got a lazy hand wrapped around him, biting sucking a bruise into his hip.

Liam sits back on his heels, “I love it.”

“It’s just–we’ve been gone for a while–”

“Uh huh,” Liam nods, grip tightening around his cock, “what’s wrong?”

“They’re gonna–” and Liam cuts him off by taking him into his mouth, lips wrapped tight as he slides over Liam’s tongue.

Liam pulls off with a pop, hand stroking him rhythmically, “You worried they’re going to know what we’re up to?”

“Not like _that_.” Zayn’s flustered, failing to hide it in his voice, especially when Liam’s looking at him with dark eyes. “They might wor–”

And he does it again, shutting Zayn up by sucking him back in between those sweet, wet, ruby lips. Liam’s too good–

He pulls off, smirking over Zayn’s curses. “We’re all adults here. And besides,” he says conversationally. He presses his thumb right under the head, making Zayn pinch his eyes closed and bite at his lip. “They already know what we’re up to.”

“What?” Zayn whimpers.

“If your pals hadn’t figured it out by now, Harry’s already told them.”

And, shit, does that set Zayn on fire, cheeks burning at the thought of them gossiping about this in the damn karaoke room. Then again, he’s the real winner here; he’s the one getting his dick sucked by an Olympic demi-god in buffalo plaid.

Zayn’s hands go up to the walls of the stall, but he brings one back down to brush at the hair on Liam’s forehead. It’s curling under the sweat, but still smooth through Zayn’s fingers as he runs through it and takes a grip at the top of Liam’s head for a light tug.

“Mmm,” Liam hums, taking Zayn deeper. “Mmmm.” He hums again, pushing his head up against Zayn’s hand.

“Fuck, Liam,” Zayn gives an experimental tug, slightly harder than the first time. “You like that?”

“Mhmm,” Liam nods, nails scraping at the top of Zayn’s thigh.

He keeps a firm grip on Liam’s hair, tugging and pulling him at random intervals, relishing the surprised sounds Liam makes in the quiet of the bathroom, just for Zayn over the drippy faucet and muffled notes of music trying to break through the door. Zayn’s surprised he hasn’t heard anyone come in yet, doesn’t even want to keep entertaining that thought about what he’d do when he’s so close to coming.

Liam’s going faster, sucking harder. Zayn’s trying to keep his eyes open, not let his head fall back when Liam gets a gentle hand on his balls. He swipes a hand over Liam’s cheek, thumb pressing into the shadow cutting through the overhead lighting above their stall. 

It’s messy, just hearing what Liam’s doing to him is enough to set Zayn off. “Fuck.”

Liam makes an encouraging noise, head bobbing faster with Zayn’s hand on the back of his neck, pressing into the damp hair. Zayn’s breathing harder, other hand pulling at the shoulder of Liam’s shirt, fist wrinkling the flannel when Liam stops with his lips wrapped around the base of his cock. He feels Liam swallow around his head, can’t help but curse at how patient Liam is with a dick down his throat, and maybe all of this isn’t real, maybe it’s just a really good dream right now. Nobody gets head like this from practically a stranger, one that Zayn wasn’t sure ever existed in the first place, in the bathroom of a karaoke bar.

“Gonna come,” Zayn gasps.

Liam pulls off, panting, forehead resting against Zayn’s hip for a second, hand stroking at a rapid pace. “Do it,” Liam says, almost sounding like he’s begging. “Come.” 

He puts his lips around Zayn again, perfect and slick, wrapping around the head, looking up with watery eyes. Zayn can feel a fire pool around his belly, balls heavy and tight, and he lets out a low groan right before he spills into Liam’s mouth. Liam keeps sucking as Zayn scrapes at the wall, heel pushing in to lean his weight on his left leg, other hand stroking up the back of Liam’s hair.

“Yeah,” Zayn sighs, “‘s so good.”

Liam pulls off with a smile, swallowing and bringing the back of his hand up to wipe at his mouth. He brings his index finger to stroke down Zayn’s sensitive cock.

“Shit.” Zayn’s apparently lost all of his vocabulary, too.

Liam pats his thigh and pulls up the elastic from his thighs to tuck him back in. He’s extra careful pulling up Zayn’s jeans as his cock softens, hands just as sure to button them up as they were taking them off not even ten minutes ago.

“You’re welcome,” Liam croaks, voice sounding raw. 

Zayn smirks, offering a hand for Liam to get up from the floor. “Where are my manners.” Liam accepts his hand and Zayn helps him up, immediately pinning Liam against the wall, “Thanks.”

Zayn winks, hand moving to feel Liam’s dick. He watches Liam close his eyes before throwing his head back as he gives a gentle squeeze. Liam is a wreck: lips swollen and utterly helpless to a deep sigh. Zayn can’t help but play out a victorious laugh. 

“What happens if I touch you here?” Zayn darts the tip of his tongue out to the soft spot behind Liam’s ear, licking up a line of salted sweat, the exact spot Liam kept going for with Zayn.

Liam’s breaths pick up, and he lets out a deep moan when Zayn bites at it with his teeth. He presses further into Liam’s side, feels Liam’s weight give in the knees against him. Zayn pops the button of Liam’s jeans open to get a hand down the front of his briefs, palm stroking a few more sobs out of Liam.

“You want me to return the favor?” Zayn whispers, applying more pressure against Liam’s dick. He can feel it swelling up under his touch.

Liam just throws his head to the side away from Zayn, mumbling something under his breath. He tugs at the bottom of Zayn’s tee.

“What was that?” Zayn asks.

“No,” Liam gasps, freezing on the spot. His hand bunches up the cotton fabric against Zayn’s waist, eyes pinching tighter as he lets out another moan. “Oooh, fuck.”

Liam sucks in a breath and brings his hand up to cover his mouth, the other pulling Zayn’s out of his pants.

“Liam? Everything alright?”

He lets go of Zayn’s shirt, and Zayn can swear Liam’s shaking his head. Liam gently pushes at Zayn’s hips and slinks down to his knees again to lean over the toilet. Liam lets out a painful, dry heave, wretch echoing through the bowl.

“Liam–”

Zayn’s cut off by a pitiful splash. He wrinkles his nose and takes a half-step back.

“Oh, dude,” Zayn leans over to rub a hand across his shoulders.

“I fucked _up_ ,” Liam says, albeit pretty miserably. Zayn feels bad, but isn’t surprised considering how many Greyhounds he watched Liam go through tonight.

“It happens, man,” Zayn pats his back, hand trailing up through Liam’s hair as he lets out another gag.

The door to the bathroom creaks open, the sounds of the bar flooding in at full force with _...Baby One More Time_ and three slurred voices lining up for the urinals.

Liam’s quick to flush and stand up, eyes turned at their feet, never meeting Zayn’s concern.

“Hey,” Zayn starts to speak again, voice careful as he ducks his head to get a look at Liam’s eyes again. Zayn brushes the back of his hand against his neck, “Liam.”

He leans over Zayn’s shoulder, body warm with a fever to flee. “S-sorry.” 

Zayn hears the lock click open, and Liam pushes past Zayn without another word. Zayn stays in the stall for a minute to listen to Liam run his hands under the facet and step out.

Zayn’s stunned in his spot, feet probably melting into the tiles as he catches clips of the drunken bathroom conversation about _half-priced sushi_ and _calico cats on Craigslist_.

His phone chimes in his back pocket, checking Zayn back into his surroundings.

_Louis:  
You two done fucking around in there?_

Zayn sighs, staring at the text for another beat before tucking the phone away in his pocket. As soon as he hears the bathroom door crack open again, he kicks the handle of the toilet with the heel of his boot and goes back over to the sinks to wash his hands.


End file.
